


Almost Human

by tormentedCryptogram



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Body Modification, Gore, Pain, Self-Hatred, i'm so very sorry for your feels, pseudo-moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tormentedCryptogram/pseuds/tormentedCryptogram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lay Cronus down, convincing him to rest for a while. There was no way he’d be able to continue without the risk of him... Kankri shook his head. He wasn’t going to think of it.</p>
<p>He was nothing more than a tool to Cronus for the whole time they had spent together for this... whatever it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Human

**Author's Note:**

> i really, truly do love these characters; the only reason i do what i do is because i want them to have a happy ending.. please, do not read if you are of a weak constitution, as the description are far from vague. if you can find it in your hearts to forgive me, it is much obliged; thank you for reading

For as adamant as he was over everything--the abolishment of the caste system, social equality for all, the lack of difference between _species_ , even... this was almost too much. His hands shook as he steadied the fluttering gills, closing them, trying not to think about how this would be the last time they would open.   
  
He wanted to put it down. Just drop the needle and thread and leave Cronus as he was, just another sea-dwelling troll, but... he supported him. He supported Cronus in everything he could possibly want to change about himself, because Kankri felt that Cronus was practically the bridge between civilizations. Vile and vulgar though he may be, the violet-blood was unique. If this was what he truly wanted, there was no way Kankri would stop him. There was no way he _could_.  
  
The tip of the needle finally broke through his skin, the tissue being far thicker than fabric, and Kankri tried to keep him still as he pulled the needle through, forcing himself to ignore the violet dripping down the metal and landing on Cronus’ white shirt, splattering his shoulder with a bright, sickening color.  
  
 _This is unnecessary! Bloodshed isn’t the answer! There are better ways! Please, just stop it. There is no reason to_ \-- but there was. There _was_ reason to do this, to maim another troll. It was so that Cronus would feel whole. So that he may be at peace with himself, for once in his life. As the thread pulled the seadweller’s gills shut, closing them permanently, Kankri tried to ignore the pained whimpers. The choked, weak voice of someone he had _known_ was lonely, who was struggling with himself every day and night because _he wasn’t right_.  
  
He couldn’t be, as long as he wasn’t human.  
  
That’s why he had called upon Kankri. Seemingly the only one that could understand his blight, his suffering, and would do anything to help him. The worst part is that he was right. Kankri _did_ want to help him feel more comfortable with himself--it was what he wanted for their entire race, and every other race in the known and unknown universe.  
  
The needle went back through skin and membrane, sealing more of his gills, and he screamed. A long, low sound that was muffled only slightly by the hand he had pressed to his mouth, and it it physically _hurt_ to know that he was responsible for the pain. Every time his movements slowed, though, he heard a growl. A choppy snarl of, _“Don’t you fucking **dare** ,”_ and he didn’t. He kept pulling the thread, forcing the needle through more skin, more membrane, more violet hitting the white shirt below.  
  
Finally, he finished. The seadweller’s blood flowed down his neck and stained his shirt even more, and it couldn’t have been pleasant, but when Cronus reached a hand up to ghost his fingertips across one set of newly sewn-shut gills he smiled. He smiled and even let out a breathy little laugh, then turned for Kankri to sew shut the other set. Kankri shuddered to think that there was still so much left to do. That he had to physically maim and distort one of his friends--if indeed he could call Cronus that--just so that they may feel content with themselves as a living being.  
  
Before he touched the now-clean needle to Cronus’ skin again, Kankri wiped the tears and blood from his face and neck, wishing there was more he could do to help him; wishing there was a non-violent way to do this.  
  
After many more minutes listening to the muffled cries and pained gasps, Kankri set down the needle and the last of the thread, and set to cleaning the violet-stained wounds. He lay Cronus down, convincing him to rest for a while. There was no way he’d be able to continue without the risk of him... Kankri shook his head. He wasn’t going to think of it.  
  
Kankri was victorious in his efforts for getting Cronus to rest for a couple days before proceeding with this ludicrous idea of becoming more human. When he walked into the block Cronus had been occupying for the last few days, he received the shock of seeing the sea-dweller sitting near the recuperacoon with his shirt balled up in his lap.  
  
 _“Hey, chief. Hovw’s it going?”_ Kankri had never seen him look so old. Cronus looked tired, exhausted, tattered around the edges and then some. It hurt to see him like that, it really did. However, he had no other option. Kankri had to go through with this; he had given his word.  
  
Cronus turned slowly, keeping his arms close to his sides as Kankri came forward. He reached out to lift the other’s arms, to move them out of the way, only succeeding in brushing the skin with his fingertips before Cronus partially bared his teeth and growled low in his throat. Kankri halted in his actions, before coming to his senses and moving Cronus’ arms, and he saw what the other had been trying to hide. Running across both sets of gills, there were jagged gashes from his claws, some healed over, others in the process and others yet that were dripping violet down his torso.  
  
It was as if his vascular pump had dropped from its place in his chest. Had it always been this bad for him? When had his suffering grown to the point that he resorted to self-harm in an attempt to be his idea of normal, of being whole?  
  
Kankri had Cronus’ hands pinned to the recuperacoon behind him faster than he thought possible. He held the hands--so much colder than his own--against the [coon] with one of his own, while his other hand traced across the scars and cuts.  
  
 _“Why? Why would you do this?”_  
  
 _“It jus’ didn’t feel right, chief.”_ Kankri was nearly shaking with anger and hopelessness and frustration and the simple fact that  he hadn’t been able to help him.  
  
Was that really all it had taken to justify his actions? His existence not feeling right? Kankri supposed it was understandable, but... to go to such lengths... He couldn’t fathom it. There was no way for him to every completely understand the reasoning behind Cronus’ actions, even with being told the supposed reason. It just seemed like too much of an unneeded hassle.  
  
However, Cronus seemed to be staring at him--no, _through_ him--and it _hurt_. To know that someone had done this to himself, that _Cronus Ampora_ , the one that had always appeared confident until forced into a depressed submission, had lowered himself to such things... it was unnerving. It tore at Kankri’s vascular pump more than he would ever care to admit. He had thought everyone had been doing fine. They were peaceful. There was true _peace_ , but this... this was still going on?  
  
He couldn’t let his opinions get in the way of his promise--no, his obligation--to Cronus. How could he be so heartless as to completely abandon someone after committing to the deed of helping them? Especially when that someone was staring at him with wide, sorrowful eyes that were so diluted with violet tears that thin translucent streaks were making their way down his face, Cronus having reached the utmost peak of desperation and then over it.  
  
Kankri would have had to be less than what he was to ignore Cronus, and he knew it. As much as it pained him to know what he had to do, there was no way he would be able to _not_ go through with it. It wasn’t how Kankri did things.  
  
If he thought his hands had been shaking before, it was like a convulsion in his veins this time. He had to be even more careful due to the existing scars. Carefully, as if he were dealing with a frightened hop-beast, he dragged the needle through skin and membrane again, avoiding the newer cuts and wounds and being gentle when forced to puncture the existing scar tissue. He debated with himself whether to go so far as to call them eyesores, though he knew he could never do it. He felt far too regretful that he had not noticed, that he hadn’t seen before, as his hands became covered once more in the violet-tinted blood.  
  
The week of rest he forced Cronus to take was dreadful for the both of them. Cronus from the pain and being so close to what he wanted, and Kankri for being able to do nothing aside from stay at the sea-dweller’s-- _correction, former sea-dweller_ \--side and still hear the pained and tortured sounds Cronus had made. Eventually, though, the week passed, and every chance he could, Cronus brought up the next step.   
  
_“C’mon, chief, it vwon’t ewven be that bad. Please, Kan, you knovw that I need this to happen.”_ Of course he knew. Kankri most likely knew more than anyone how badly Cronus wanted and needed this to be done. Everyone else thought it was a phase, some delusion from culture shock. After so many conversations at length, though, Kankri knew. He knew that not being human was slowly--perhaps not even slowly, anymore--killing his friend, for that is what he felt they were now. Through this experience, something that stood so strongly against the customs of their civilization, there had formed a sort of pseudo-moirallegiance.  
  
That only served to make it harder for Kankri to go through with it. The knife--no, what had Cronus called it? Oh yes, a scalpel--shook in his hand while he tried to avoid looking at the watchful, watery violet gaze before him. Looking at Cronus’ face now would only make things impossible.  
  
Beside him sat more rags, thread and yet another needle. He was beginning to greatly dislike even the sight of the small piece of metal. Regardless, Cronus took hold of his hand, drawing it and the scalpel closer to his skin and grinned. Not tagging physical contact, though... well at this point, Kankri supposed it didn’t much matter. He’d seen more of the violet-blood than he had ever wanted, had to do horrible things to what was shown to him.  
  
Were he not adamant to his vow of celibacy, he may have felt the slightest bit of pity for the troll before him. As it was, he didn’t. Not really. Not that he would admit it aloud or to even himself if he did.  
  
The tip of the small blade was pressing against Cronus’ skin, just below the fin-like protrusion adorning the left side of his face. _Why was this so hard to do?_ Kankri couldn’t give himself an answer to that question. He was afraid of what the answer would be.  
  
The edge made its way up, quickly enough to hopefully not be as painful as it could have been, but slowly enough to make sure the cut wasn’t sloppy. Regardless of the ‘medicine’ Cronus had been taking since after their first “session,” there was still a pained whimper that broke free of his throat and graced the room.  
  
It was yet another sound that was to be imbedded in Kankri’s memory to chase him into being guilty. It was working.  
  
Ignoring the foreign, unwanted sound of a part of a troll that shouldn’t be removed being detached, blocking the sight of the free-flowing violet blood with one of the cleaning rags, he continued. It wasn’t until the fin was gone, leaving Cronus looking rather unbalanced, dizzy, and flushed from pain and tears, did Kankri look him in the eyes. That alone nearly made him regret it. Cronus’ eyes were dilute from the watery tears forming and falling, though his face was pulled into an uneven half-smile. _This damn, crazy troll!_  
  
Threading that accursed needle seemed a much more difficult task this time around, and Kankri forced himself not to shudder as he pushed it through skin and blood to start sealing the new wound he had inflicted.  
  
Every time that Cronus cringed, it was all Kankri could do to not stop and leave sewing the damn wound shut to try to ease his pain. If he had, though, Cronus would surely bleed out.  
  
Slowly, painstakingly, Kankri finished. Immediately after setting down the vile metal point and string, Cronus’ arms were lightly wrapped around him, holding him still as the sea-dweller’s head rested on his shoulder.    
  
Resisting the urge--a great feat in itself--to pull out his whistle and scold him, Kankri stood still, and let one of his hands fall to Cronus’ shoulder to comfort as much as he was able. He felt his sweater become splattered with diluted violet tears, while the other troll muttered a mixture of thank-you’s and sorry’s. There wasn’t a reason for either, in Kankri’s opinion.  
  
Regardless, once Cronus had become quiet, and leaned back to sit as he had before, Kankri took that awful piece of metal back into his hand and placed the blade against his right fin. This time, however, Kankri failed to look away. He failed to stop his eyes from looking at Cronus’ own and he _saw_. He saw the other’s dire _need_ for this to happen, and he watched as the pain registered and tore at him. Violet welled up beneath his gaze and he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Deep down, a part of him wondered if that was what the loss of someone important felt like, but he could not grant that part an answer. He refused to acknowledge it.  
  
Again, that vivid color came forth staining Cronus’ skin and shirt and Kankri’s hands and sweater. He shuddered inwardly to think that he had more or less bathed in the blood of his friend by now. He decided he would have a new vow to make when this was finally over--to never agree to something like this ever again. Merely observing would have been triggering enough, but to physically be the one inflicting the damage... Kankri felt the need to isolate himself for his great wrongdoings, regardless of how wanted they may have been.  
  
Eventually, the last piece of thread was pulled through Cronus’ skin and tied to properly close the gash that now marred the right side of his face. Ignoring his rule on physical contact with others yet again, Kankri let the sea-dweller hold his hand to his now-stitched face, keeping to himself the sickening feeling of guilt and shame at feeling the raised flesh and string beneath his fingertips.   
  
If Conus noticed his hesitation, he didn’t show it.  
  
Why was he still doing this? Assisting Cronus in his desire to be human? Oh, yes, because he couldn’t say no. Not when Cronus trusted him as much as he obviously did. Never-the-less, this was ridiculous. To go to this much of an extreme, it was... It was saddening, if he were honest with himself, but, as he had watched Cronus become happier over this process, as the self-hatred faded from the seadweller, Kankri thought that perhaps he was doing some good.  
  
That didn’t stop him from wanting to drop the heavy metal clamp and leave it as it was. Looking down at his face, and receiving a small grin and a nod, Kankri lifted the clamp slowly, and with an almost too-shaky hand gripped one of Cronus’ horns lightly.  
  
This would be the “session” that would hurt them both the worst. Cronus, for the immense pain he _knew_ would come, and Kankri for being the one to cause it--even at a request. Were he a lower person, he would damn himself, but he couldn’t. Instead, he fastened the clamp to the horn he held gingerly in his hand and, so very hesitantly, tightened it more and more. He heard the sickening pops, the crack of the outer surface breaking. Kankri could almost _feel_ how harshly Cronus was grinding his teeth together so he wouldn’t cry out. Spiderweb-like fractures started to appear on the lightning-shaped horn, and as the clamp tightened, the resistance slowly gave way to the softer, inner core.  
  
The tortured scream that left Cronus’ lips was killing him. Immediately, Kankri loosened the clamp, only to have his wrist grabbed tightly and for Cronus to shake his head and tell him to keep going, despite the diluted violet running down his face and the thicker, darker streams matting his hair.  
  
Biting his tongue, Kankri set back to work, tightening the metal around the permanently damaged  horn slowly as he tried--and failed--yet again to not notice the pain in every breath Cronus took. Eventually, metal clanged against metal dully, and there was a sharp clatter as all but the very bottom-most part of the base of the bard’s horn fell to the floor. Kankri pressed cloths and rags to the now-deformed protrusion, stanching the bleeding and cleaning the violet from Cronus’ hair.  
  
It made him sick to see the his friend like this. Broken and so very far from being the troll he was hatched to be. At the same time, however, it made him almost pleased. He was helping. He wasn’t being turned away. Kankri knew the dangers of what they were doing, though that didn’t make it much easier.  
  
He led Cronus to rest a while, so he may recover from the pain and the blood loss, and dreaded the next day. The day Cronus Ampora’s “transformation,” as the seadweller put it, would be over.  
  
He stared. That was the only thing he could do. Kankri just stood there, frozen in place, bewildered and awestruck and so very, deeply hurt. He had been used. He was nothing more than a tool to Cronus for the whole time they had spent together for this... whatever it was. He had inflicted so much pain under the pretense that it was for a good cause. He adamantly refused to acknowledge the part of himself that cried out to him that it was a bad idea, because Cronus was asking him, no, _begging_ him to help. So he did. And all it got him was this. The clean, now-lifeless body of his friend, slumped against the chair he had been sitting in.   
  
Cronus’ words still rang clearly in his head, and that alone made him want to shut himself away. He wanted to hide for the foreseeable future, and never come out again. The words, they haunted him. They mocked him. Pointed out what he had done, what he had assisted in doing. There was a deep, immensely painful sting in his vascular pump. Whatever this had begun as, over the time that progressed, Kankri had developed a pseudo-moirallegiance with Cronus. To think that he truly would not open his eyes again sent Kankri to his knees, his trigger whistle in his hand while his thoughts went back to the shaky, muttered words and the small smile and the genuine gratitude.  
  
 _#remembering, #death, #murder, #murderer, #YOU KILLED HIM_  
  
 _“Thanks, chief. Novw... vwell, they can’t... tell the difference... in a casket.”_ No, no, that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have wanted this, could he? Kankri wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything but one short sentence that made it so much worse.  
  
 _“You did fine, kid.”_


End file.
